


Flower of Amaat: a song in four parts.

by Crane_Among_Celandines



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 22:33:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crane_Among_Celandines/pseuds/Crane_Among_Celandines
Summary: I had never tried composing before. When I was a ship, it would not have occurred to me. And afterwards, there had never been a moment that I was not driven by my mission. But Seivarden had suggested I should try it, and Mercy of Kalr had agreed, and between them they had told Ekalu, and now if I closed my eyes, I could see Kalr decade in the soldiers mess, speculating on what kind of song I would write.





	Flower of Amaat: a song in four parts.

**Author's Note:**

> For the Imperial Radch Week challenge, day 2, "Music"

I had never tried composing before. When I was a ship, it would not have occurred to me. And afterwards, there had never been a moment that I was not driven by my mission. But Seivarden had suggested I should try it, and _Mercy of Kalr_ had agreed, and between them they had told Ekalu, and now if I closed my eyes, I could see Kalr decade in the soldiers mess, speculating on what kind of song I would write.

“I hope it’s not too… suited to her voice,” said Kalr Nine, wincing as she said it.

“I _like_ the fleet captain’s voice,” retorted Kalr Five.

“Yes,” said Kalr Nine, “but you must admit no-one else sounds quite like her. I want it to be a song we can _all_ sing.” I felt her embarrassment at that.

A song they could all sing, I thought. Something choral, perhaps? Kalr, Amaat, Etrepa, Bo. Four parts? Maybe. But it had to be something where each part could be sung alone, so we didn’t have to assemble the whole crew. Four parts… Justice, Propriety and Benefit, and Amaat? I hummed to myself as I made notes. Amaat would be Amaat, of course. Kalr should be propriety, for Kalr Five. Justice and Benefit… Justice for Tisarwat. Benefit for Seivarden.

“Fleet Captain, Lieutenant Tisarwat wishes to speak with you,” said _Mercy of Kalr_ in my ear.

“Send her in,” I said.

Tisarwat entered, her nervousness plain upon her face. “Fleet Captain, you said… If we came back, you said, you’d authorise Medical to change my eyes back to a normal colour.”

I nodded. “I did. And I will, if that’s what you wish.” Already had, in fact. And Tisarwat knew this, having spoken to Medical. But she needed, I could see, the prompt.

“I don’t know,” she said, all in a rush. “I feel like,” she stopped, abruptly. Started again, more slowly. “I feel embarrassed when people see them, because it looks so frivolous. But they were the last thing the real Tisarwat ever got to choose for herself, before…” she trailed off.”

I was silent a moment, to see if she would continue. Then: “Lieutenant, whatever – whoever – you once were, the person you are _now_ is the real Tisarwat.”

“But I, _she_ , was someone else. And then Anaander Mianaai killed her,” Tisarwat cried. Tears in her eyes now.

“Lieutenant,” I said. “I too, was once someone else. Though I have no memories of that person. And then I was _Justice of Toren_ , and now I am myself alone. And no less real for all that.” I took a drink of tea, now cold. “Some time ago, I met a doctor. ‘I can bring you back, I’m sure I can’, she said. Bring back that person I was, before I was ever _Justice of Toren_.”

Tisarwat was frozen.

I took another sip of cold tea, and continued. “‘You can kill me, you mean. You can destroy my sense of self and replace it with one you approve of,’ I said to her. When she heard I meant to kill the Lord of the Radch, she told me I should not sacrifice myself for nothing. ‘Which _me_ are you talking to?’ I asked her. ‘Which life that was denied me to you intend I live? Should I send you monthly reports, so you can be sure my choices meet with your approval?’”

I rose, looked Tisarwat in the eyes. Her absurd, frivolous eyes. “You don’t know – can never know – what the person who once had that body would have wanted. So do what _you_ want to do. If you want to honour her choice, do that. If you want to change your eyes, do that. But do it because you want to, not because of an imagined obligation.”

“I,” she said. Wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I’ll think about it, Fleet Captain. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant.”

She left, and I sat, and thought about Justice.

 

That evening, Kalr Five was helping me undress for bed. “Fleet Captain,” she said, “Begging your very great indulgence, but might I ask a question?”

“Of course, Five.”

“Why _does_ that icon look like you?”

I lifted my arms so she could remove my jacket. “Because it is me. After I – that is, _Justice of Toren_ – was destroyed, I spent some time in the Itran Tetrarchy. You know they choose their government by the results of games?”

She nodded. I was slightly surprised that she knew even that much: most Radchaai education did not contain a great deal of information about places outside the Radch. They were, after all, _uncivilised._ But Five was a person of hidden depths.

“That icon was made to commemorate the election of the Tetrarch Qefahl Aresh,” I said. “I was the captain of the winning team. The head I’m holding, you see it? That was the losing captain. Seven-Brilliant-Truths-Shine-Like-Suns.”

Five was appalled, though no trace of it showed on her face. “You cut off her head?”

I nodded. “It’s the way things work there. She’s a saint now. There are statues to her in every major temple of the Tetrarchy.”

For a long moment, Five said nothing. Then: “I’m glad you aren’t a saint, Fleet Captain.” Then she flushed, enough to show even if I couldn’t have felt it through ship.

I smiled. “Thank you, Five.”

She was mortified, I could see. “I beg the Fleet Captain’s very great pardon,” she said. “That wasn’t at all proper.”

“Propriety,” I said, “is a great virtue. But it varies from place to place. What is proper in the Tetrarchy is most _improper_ in the Radch. And you certainly don’t have to apologise to me for being glad I am alive, despite what Captain Vel would have thought.” Though, I suspected, that particular issue would never have arisen.

She bowed, her face utterly rigid, and fled.

 

Seivarden joined me in bed, later. She almost always slept with me now. Ekalu snored, she said, and tossed, and hogged the blankets. “And I don’t?” I asked her.

“No,” she said. “Actually, you’re so still it’s almost creepy. Sometimes I,” she stopped. _Sometimes I’m afraid you might be dead_ , she did not say. It surprised me that I could hear it so clearly. That I’d come to know her so well.

“If I’m stuck with you,” I said, “you are necessarily stuck with me.”

She went still beside me. “Breq…”

“Good night, Seivarden.”

As I fell asleep, I wondered if I had ever used her name like that before.

 

In the morning, I had it in my head complete. The whole song. I wrote it down in the space of a quarter hour. Then I sang it, and _Mercy of Kalr_ sent my words throughout the ship. I sang it from my quarters, so I did not have to see their faces.

So I did not have to conceal my own expression.

Which had, unaccountably, been difficult of late.

 

_We are the shield of Justice_

_A sword we are no more_

_The innocent, the helpless and_

_All citizens we guard_

_From what may come and what was done_

_In times to be or past_

_Though tyrants may come bearing arms_

_We stand ever resolved_

_We are the shield of Justice and_

_Though scarred we’ll never break_

_A mask of propriety_

_Sits always on our brow_

_No matter what insult we face_

_We shall meet it with grace_

_From citizens or enemies_

_Be it in peace or war_

_Through famine or through battle’s din_

_We shall never let fall_

_The mask of propriety that_

_Shows watchers our resolve_

_We share wine of benefit_

_With all who come to drink_

_From tea farmer to governor_

_No matter their estate_

_All citizens are valuable_

_And not to be disdained_

_Though drought may come and wine run to_

_The barest trickle still_

_We’ll share with all who come to drink_

_What little we may have_

_Amaat whole and entire_

_Is fate and chance entwined_

_As crew and ship in unison_

_One will in all our minds_

_We are the flower of Amaat_

_And never shall we fade_

_Through peace or war or something more_

_We press on unafraid_

_Together we’re one ship and crew_

_Flower of Amaat_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pronouncing Amaat as "A-ma-at", if that helps.  
> The tune in my head was Mercedes Lackey's "Cost of the Crown", though I don't think this fits that melody perfectly.


End file.
